Roller Coaster of the Caucasus.

The Hygeine Poster Contest Award Ceremony is taking longer to accomplish than I thought it would.  Reasons?

1) Everyone at school has gone through their cycle of being sick for a week or so.  Including both my counterparts and the teacher I was doing the contest with, so last week was especially fun.  Cough.
2) It's Georgia.

So, I'll give you a draft I found lurking in my backlog (because much of it is still relevant/the same old), and prep another blog post later this week about what's been going on.

First order of business:  Giving Thanks.

I gave thanks multiple times this year.

• Once, I guess, at the All Vol conference in a huuuumongo group.  That was more of a period of not sleeping and drinking too much (every night.. not used to this) and talking about ridiculous things and philosophy and whatever else is a topic of great importance at 2 in the morning.

• Second Thanksgiving: I baked two pumpkin pies in the pechi this year.  One I shared with the 8th graders after they wrote an e-mail to my World Wise Schools correspondent about how they celebrate Christmas and New Year and Giorgoba.  The other I sent to the teachers lounge for them to enjoy while I sped off to Thanksgiving number three...

• in Tbilisi.  Good conversation, good people, good mood, good food.  Not all my axloblebi, but a couple good friends (one who's a good cook) and a good group of people and a 13 kilo turkey, not to mention an awesome girl who shares an odd kinship with me.

• Last Thanksgiving this year: in Telavi.  I still didn't get to help make pies, but Jeff and Tina helped me make PEANUT BUTTER (!!!!) and I helped Barb make pumpkin bread with a little of the leftover pumpkin.  The peanut butter is delicious, albeit a little... dry.  But it's chunky and au naturale, baby!  And not bad with apples from the backyard. (as long as I cut out the bad parts.  The apples are au naturale, too.)  But, anyways, it goes without saying that the people who were in Telavi are awesome people and a good time was had, despite faking sick on the marsh there so I didn't make people mad for having to pee, and my typical moody self flaring up, and not being able to shower. ("It takes a lot of money to heat the gas.  If you can be quick, go ahead.  But everyone will want to shower.  I'm sure you understand.")

 Things that annoy me:

Working seemingly all the time but never really having anything to show for it.  It's not like I have THAT MANY hours at school or a million (really, any) afterschool clubs (I guess the computer training counts) or other projects or keep in touch with friends back home or other volunteers.  Where does my time go?

Advice from "experts":

•  "You run on the stadium, right?  You should breathe only through your mouth when you run.  I'm a sportsman.  Just so you know."
• "Your hands, they're so dry!  You should use special lotion.  It's in drugstores.  It's got glycerin in it.  Then wear gloves all the time."
• "You should stay here for the rest of your life.  Don't you like Georgia?  She doesn't want to stay.  That means she doesn't like Georgia.  If she did, she would stay.

/end backlog

I think I will start a blog logging only the 3 things I'm thankful for each day.  That way, when my notebook runs out (both the paper one and the one I'm typing on, I guess) it'll exist somewhere.  Kinda like myself.

Now, back to work!  I asked my director for the off--and the initial reason, being a guest trainer elsewhere, has been (surprise!) postponed.  I'm still taking the personal day to get some work done, because heaven knows I need it!

Back to life, back to reality... (plus! Bonus: Dreams of Christmas, passed)

or Georgian reality, anyway.
I just got back from vacation!  I've experienced some interesting things here.  And it's about time I took a vacation.  I didn't leave the country my whole first year of service, which means I was home (my second one) for the holidays.  All of them.  But this time I decided to forego the supra-a-day-til-February and got outta dodge just as the holiday season began.  The adventure went thusly.

Zeimis and the Great Escape:
Befor I left, I had to oversee the Christmas "zeimi" or event that Madga and I cooked up for our kids.  All our classes participated (3,4,5,8).  You'll wish you could have seen the 3rd graders memorizing groups of sounds that, when recited, eerily resemble the first verse of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas".  You'll also wish you could have tasted the delicious homemade cutout cookies I made, complete with frosting.  But don't regret too much; you wouldn't have been able to squeeze in the room amongst the parents and other kids who talked through the whole thing.  The 4th graders' "Some people sing songs to people in hospitals or go to church," was lost in the void that is lots of Georgians attending an event.  Indeed, there was only chaos as the 5th graders raced to complete their Christmas Crossword.  The fireplace didn't make an appearance, either, due to projector impertinence.  I gave up.

At least the kids had fun singing their songs in class every day for the previous two weeks ("Jingle Bells, Jingle Bell Rock, and We Wish You a Merry Christmas), and the 8th graders pulled together a hilarious scene of a family prepping for Christmas (complete with a short, sunglassed Santa).  Even the weaker students shone as Georgian emcees and dancers.

The next day I was coerced into serving as the 3rd grade's "Christmas Around the World" slideshow attendant (which I'd shown their homeroom teacher how to create :] ) as well as 8th grade's zeimi's DJ, until the time of the last marshutka to Tbilisi, when I HAD to find a replacement and cut out.


Birthday bash and Christmas Eve:
One thing I didn't get cut was my hair.  Host sister-in-law said she'd cut it Thursday night but forgot.  Instead she offered to straighten in the next morning before I left.  So, with my freshly straightened mullet, I partied it out with the PCVs in Tbilisi.  We got Indian food and had drinks at the classiest bar in town.

Scene: Radisson Rooftop Lounge.
Me: I'll have a... umm... uh... White Russian!
Jeff: Oh, me too!
Waitress brings glasses.
Jeff: Umm... a White Russian has Kahlua in it.
Waitress takes glasses, brings glasses back.
Me: It's... lumpy.

Lesson learned: even if you pay out the nose for a drink, the bartender might have no idea how to make it, so you may have to spend the night stirring out the chunks.

Whatever.  We got to enjoy the lights of the most famous street in town by walking down the middle of it in the middle of the night.  And a lady at the Mariott gave us glasses for our cheap Georgian champagne, and free peanuts.  Little America knows customer service!

Christmas was cool, too, with eggnog and White Elephant gift exchange and a party at a friend's place with interesting people who work at the embassy and as Fulbrights and cool stuff like that.

Before leaving the country, Cara and I triumphantly found a French restaurant in the middle of nowhere that we'd wasted hours failing to find before.  I wasted money on some skinny jeans, contributing to my now-impending freaking out about my finances.  (They're a little too big, and the bottom button broke.  And they'd have been half price in Turkey.  Live and learn?) But "NO BUYER'S REMORSE ALLOWED!"


Istanbul (not Constantinople [unless you look on the Greek map]):
Barring a bomb threat at the Tbilisi airport when we arrived, causing us to freeze our toes off and have our flight delayed half an hour, we finally got OUT!  And what a wonderful and mysterious land we landed in!  Filled with yummy Turkish delights such as doner and hummus and Starbucks, but not real "Turkish delights"... nobody likes "Turkish delights."  They're icky.
It was also cool to be in the land of mosques.
In Georgia the culture is certainly different from America.  But in Georgia, the churches have familiar images: Jesus, Mary, and Saints (especially St. George).  In Istanbul, throughout the day, you could hear the call to prayer in Arabic ringing from the minarets everywhere you turn.  And, although you could wander into a dozen Burger Kings, you could look for a bacon cheeseburger on the menu and never find it.  Visiting the mosques is a process: as in Georgia, women must have their heads covered and are recommended to wear a skirt.  Everyone must be dressed modestly (no shorts!).  Before entering the mosque, you have to wait outside for the tourists to finish taking off their shoes and stuff them into a plastic bag to carry inside and leave a space on the ledge so that you can rush in and do the same.  Once inside, you're free to marvel.  Every millimeter is decorated with intricate geometrical patterns in blue and red and black and gold and purple and you pad along the carpet and take in every millimeter by the light of chandeliers with electric candles.

Istanbul is very tourist-welcoming, too.  In the Grand Bazaar, as you walk past the stalls you are enticed with "Yes, please, come in," "Madame," "Guttentag," as the multilingual stallowners try to guess your nationality and earn your business.  One carpet-seller in the city greeted us with an enterprising, "Let me help you spend your money!"

And the Authentic Turkish Bath we found on the nontouristy Asian side was one of those Unique Cultural Experiences, with captial letters.  We found it floundering about, asking various Turks who didn't speak English, "Hammam (bath)?" and trying to understand their pointing.  When we finally got there, we had some help from a lone French tourist, which was nice because the ladies who ran the thing didn't know English and we didn't know Turkish.  We got more than what we paid for, dumping water on ourselves until the lady scrubbed away the first layer of our skin with a loofah and instructed us, via hand motions, to keep dumping.  ...And then we got some delicious, drippy bakhlava!!

New Year's was pretty chill.  We had some drinks at a bar and then had some drinks at another bar and line danced with some Turkish dudes and watched people set off fireworks in the street.  No Cozy Bar or 17.50 lira margaritas, though, sorry Jim. <3


The 70s Come Alive:
The night train from Istanbul to Thessaloniki was pretty cool.  It was an olive green relic from the 70s, making me feel like some sort of James Bond movie reject.  But we got to hang out with an awesome girl we met at the hostel in Istanbul, who's teaching English in Slovakia and was on vacation with her mom.


The Night When Dive Hotels Didn't Make The Best Stories, Just Higher Blood Pressure.
Staying in Thessalonika was a mistake.  We walked to the hotel we'd found on hostelbookers that was near the train station.  We went up to the 4 person room.  When we opened the door, it was as if we'd just turned the key of a forgotten can of sardines, stored next to the formaldehyde in the morgue for 340 years after the plague.  And whose fault was it that we stayed there?  The poor sap who booked the room.  Cough.  So I was responsible for talking to the clerk and not getting us gypped into paying extra for two inhabitable rooms.


Athens!
The first time I went to Athens during study abroad, I thought it was a big, kinda dirty city with lots of ruins.  This time, I thought it was a medium, kinda clean city with lots of ruins.  One night, we hung out with an awesome girl we'd met at the hostel in Istanbul, gone to the Turkish baths with, and ended up taking the same train to Thessalonika and staying at the same place in Athens.  Weird!  The new Acropolis Museum was especially neat, showing the famous Parthenon in all its glory.  Well, glorified not as an exact replica but as a reconstruction, with modern, black columns and plaster casts of the incredible sculptures that adorned its roof (many of the original pieces belong to the British Museum).But a couple days of walking around and eating delicious gyros and moussaka and looking at old things, we decided to make like Spartans and get on a ship outta there.


Island Chills:
On the Blue Star Ferry to Santorini I learned what a Muster Station is, I lost many games of spades, and I resisted many urges to buy special Blue Star souvenirs from our gift shop, now open for business (every hour and a half or so).  We were then picked up by our hostel dude and driven up the volcanic island to the set for Mamma Mia!  Well, it was actually filmed on a different island, but it sure looked like it.  We rented a car and explored the island's black and red beaches, were disappointed again and again by the Greek desserts that look better than they taste, and tried to watch the sunset by the windmill in one of the eerie off-season ghost towns.  It was great!


One thing that amazed me is that we got by in all these places only using English.  Even travellers we met from Germany and France and Brazil used English with the hostel clerks and in restaurants.  But learning a little of the language goes a long way-- when I said "Kali mera!" (Good morning) to one of the street artists in Athens, he stopped me and talked to me as he made a cute metal pin with a treble clef and a heart, which he gave to me as a gift.


I didn't miss all of the holiday season when I got back to Georgia.  It was still happening, because they celebrate two Christmases and two New Years, according to the old calendar.  We had guests and supras every day the first week I got back.  Although it's a happy, celebratory time, for me it means I'm waiting for warmer weather and longer days so I can start running again and get back into shape!

Yesterday I was feeling especially bad.  There's no space of my own here where I can work without feeling like I'm imposing on Shorena's cleaning habits of sweeping and mopping the floor 2-4 times a day, and that doesn't make my hands stiff from the cold after 3 seconds of being away from the one room in the house with a pechi that's only warm sometimes because everyone leaves the door wide open.  Also everyone has been telling me that I've gained weight and my face looks fatter, multiple times even though it's obvious I'm not flattered by the comment the first time.  Thanks for the sensitivity.

So I wanted to run.  I gambled that the stadium would be free and put on my running clothes, extra-chilled.  When I got there, there were kids playing football (soccer).  They don't play football for one or two hours here, they play it until they can't see the ball in front of them.  So I was frustrated, but there's more than one way to skin a cat.  I headed the road toward the river.  Seeing the way completely soaked with mud, I thought I'd try running on the street.  Ten seconds later, I had three dogs barking and chasing after me, who didn't respond to me turning around and threatening them with a rock.  So I was done.  I fumed and took an hour-long walk.  Then I went to ANOTHER supra and had some VEGETABLES and FRUIT which compared with my past two days' food (rice and muraba, bread and butter and honey, bread and matsoni, bread and butter, pickled cabbage, and a bowl of "veggie" soup featuring potatoes and beef bits.. yum...) was a FEAST FOR A MEPE!!!!

Although I love living in Georgia, I'm looking toward the future.  I'm going through the book What Color Is Your Parachute and trying to figure out my "skills" and "abilities" and trying to see if I actually have any dreams.  I'll keep you updated.  Any advice would not be ill-taken.

So now you've gotten through this book-of-an-update!  What are you going to do now?

Please say sitting freshly showered in your nice, warm, central-heated haven with hot chocolate and a salad.  That's what I'd do, if I could.


Love!

Back from CR! And Kobuleti! And my birthday! And depression! Back to school!!

From over a month ago:


Okay, okay, so I haven't posted for a month now.  But I defend my slacking in that my main reader was hanging out with me for part of that time.

Of course, I've been back from the family vacation for a while, and there's really no good excuse to why I haven't posted except that I've been really bummed and also freaking out about this project lately.  But I'll get to that.  First news of the trip of awesome!

Mom and Dad arrived EARLY Friday morning, most of the time waiting which I spent being a sorry excuse for a city guide for some neighboring country PCVs who were staying at the Nika.  Then at the airport, pacing back and forth and trying to get a spot among the Georgians waiting for their loved ones to arrive.  We were quickly whisked away by Jenora's taxi driver neighbor, caught a few hours rest, then walked (pretty aimlessly; like I said, I'm not much of a guide) around the city until my host dad/brother picked us up later that evening, much to my parents' delight.  If you're still unfamiliar with Georgian driving, ask my dad to tell you all about it, which hopefully proves to be not just a traumatic reminder but a good therapy session for him, or see this wonderfully written post describing the Georgian Rules of the Road.

Anyway, traveling around Georgia actually went pretty smoothly.  Nothing too unexpected or out of the norm here.  We did go to the graveyard, which was pretty cool for Mom the Genealogy Nut.  She's been taking me to graveyards since I was a little squirt, showing me how to lay the butcher paper on the gravestones just so, peel the wrapper off the crayon, and rub the crayon sideways until the name and dates magically appeared on the butcher paper in cerulean or mulberry.

But the real genealogy was later, in the Czech Republic.  I'll get to that.

In Georgia, however, don't think family wasn't present.  Yes, I was exhausted from translating, but I found I didn't need to every second; my mom and Shorena both have that sixth sense or feminine intuition, call it what you will, that sometimes the situation was thus:
Mom: I bet this thing does this because of this.
Shorena, to me, in Georgian: Did she just say this thing does this because of this?
Me: HALLELUJAH.


And, now, to the present.  Yes, the visit was wonderful.  Yes, translating was exhausting.  Yes, eating 24/7 was exhausting.  Yes, Ana in Baghdati is such an amazing hostess and friend I can't begin to thank her enough.  Surprisingly no, no accidents were had due to Georgian driving.

You know, in retrospect the amount of eating we did was partially due to the fact that we visited places of food production (beehives, vineyard, watermelon garden...) and partially due to the fact that the only thing mutually comprehensible that both families could do with their mouths beyond making a gamarjobat and hello come out of them was to shove something edible in them.  Why not?

Needless to say, the amazing adventure in the villages of CR and Prague restored my belief in the existence of flush toilets.  Also seeing the site of where my great-grandma was born was pretty cool.  Not only that, the mayor of the village (who drives a four-wheeler to work) gave us a book about the history of the village (which also has its own WEBSITE.), which revealed the village paid for some of my relatives to go to America... which is really weird.

Also weird was the bone church at Kutná Hora.  But you've already seen pictures on Stalkernet.

When we went to the other (west) side of the CR, after a long pilgrimage back and forth from village to village on a rainy day when we were just about to give up, we ended up in the house of a lady who may or may not be related to us.  She fed us awesome Chodsky kolache, a specialty pastry of the region, some turkish kava, and brought out dress after dress, nay, COMPLETE outfit sets of traditional Czech kroj, of which I got the honor of trying on one or two.  About which she commented, "If this were to be yours, I'd have to take it in a lot, or you'd have to eat into it."  People!!

Of Prague there's not much to tell but pretending to be a tour guide for my parents, getting lost on trams, finding delicious Czech pastries and an amazing teahouse, the cute bartender at the place across from the hotel, the fun little ghost tour, and, best of all, wandering off to gorgeous and tourist-free Vyšehrad.

Next time I go, more time will be spent at that magical castle where no one goes, dinner at At the Ropemaker's Wife bar, more delicious pastries, more talking with the locals, taking a train or two into the countryside, and chillin' in the country where I, the anti-beer-ist, can enjoy a pint.


For a while I was super depressed after the amazing vacation.  Going back from Candyland to the Twilight Zone was no walk in the park.  Heck, they don't exist in the Newvillage.  BUT!  What the Newvillage does have to offer now are computer trainings for teachers!

These computer trainings have been a pain, but they're getting something done, and I feel like living again, most of the time.  School has started, grape harvest has been missed multiple times, and I'm teaching with Magda and Ana (not Lia or Nino... long story.).  But you've already read a novel.  Go have a rest (daisvene!), and I'll write later.  Besides, gotta go lesson plan.

Top 10 Ways to Occupy Oneself During Medical Leave.

10. Sleep.
Although this is difficult with a gash on back of your head and lovely bruises on both elbows and your gluteus growingevermoremaximusingeorgicus.

9. Read.
This improves your morale when you think, "Wow, Vanya Denisovich was thankful at the end of HIS day, and I haven't frozen my butt in Siberia slathering mortar on concrete blocks for 6 oz. of bread lately."
Also may build your desire to go to India after service (sans the joining-the-Indian-mafia bit).

8. Eat.
Compounding on last reason.  However, remember to tell the hostess that you don't like meat (lest you get meat and noodle soup and chicken sticks for lunch), and don't try to go out for dinner with visiting PCVs, as this is a stern no-no.

7. Catch up with people back home.
Lots of get wells for you guys who are concurrently recovering from surgeries and various ailments.  And it's sweet to hear you're doing things like learning knitting and working at book publishing companies and having senior recitals and jazz.  Also, BIG thanks to Kayleigh for my new theme song.

6. Waste time on the Interwebs.
The final frontier knows no bounds.

5. Listen to some new music.
Kyle would approve, and Steven Flaherty would be proud. (?)

4. Resolve to demand dance lessons.
Time to take a stand against the winter blues and that gluteous growingevermoremaximus.

3. Take warm showers.
Neck down or full body, enjoy it while it lasts.  Also the sit down toilet, now only seconds away from your bed!  Also central heat, when it doesn't go out for some unknown reason.

2. Reassure Akhalsopelians.
I'm okay; I'll be back Tuesday; yes, I'm taking medicine; I'd love to go walking with you when I get back; and thanks for the wish to find big and nice love in life.

1. Thank those who are that big and nice love.
Chemebi.  You know who you are.  Happy Valentine's Day, guys.

Ra xdeba?

You may now finally rest easy.  News from the old and glorious land of Sakartvelo, which has been long due, finally comes your way!  Now you have something to read while you're on your nice, sit down commode in your centrally-heated houses.  Jerks.
So, the holiday season is coming to a close.  Next week.  Sort of.  The first day after break is the eighteenth.  Or maybe the twentieth, because the nineteenth is a Georgian holiday.  These are the words of my counterpart.

Let me tell you, I have just about had it up to my yurebi (ears) in Georgian keipi (feasting) and culture.  And my waistline can't really take too much, either, since it's turned to the FREEZING season and I've lost all will to exercise and/or leave the room with the petchi.

A review of the holidays I've celebrated since Christmas ("Catholic Christmas," that is):
New Year's Eve:
  Supposedly the most anticipated, hyped up celebration in the country.  Really just an extended, low-key family supper where we watched TV for slightly longer than we usually do and drank Christmas liqueur and my babo's coffee liqueur (made with the family chacha.. so it tasted of rocket fuel).  And some nut job was singing while the clock actually struck 12, so I kinda missed it.  Whatev.  There were some fireworks, but kids have been setting them off in the streets for weeks now.  Also, we visited the brother-in-law's place (because my host sister was their first-footer, the first guest after New Years who must bring a plate of nom nom squares and other sugary delights for a "delicious" year).  There I was urged to marry in the village by some intoxicated Georgian men and then made fun of because I don't know how to milk a cow.  So it goes.

New Year's Day:
   Slightly more involved.  Family members from all around gathered at the grandma's parent's house in Gremi and feasted with such once-a-yearly culinary delights as chicken in walnut sauce, honey-walnut granola bars (minus the granola), and more chocolate and nom nom squares than even I can eat.  And that is saying something, because I inherited my dad's sweet tooth.  At least I got to exchange glances with the Ukranian sister-in-law (I don't speak Russian, and she doesn't speak Georgian or English very well) about the massive quantities of food, the constant comments about how "sad" the non-Georgians were (really, just bored and tired of being told to eat the food), and the 90-something-year-old great-grandpa downing two full-sized glasses of Georgian wine of the highest quality for some toast or another.

Pig slaughter at Tom's celebrating his return:
  Pretty much self-explanatory.  You can look up videos and pictures on his and Johnny's FB if you'd like the scream of a dying pig to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

New Year's party with host family friends later that night:
  Which may or may not have involved me drinking a bit too much Telani Valley red wine (probably some of the better wine I've tasted in Georgia) and talking about gender roles with the friend (who makes more than a few measly tetri at his Important Job in Tbilisi).  Other highlights include making up an Italian boyfriend (he plays the organ in the Vatican and is kinda ugly, but I love him anyway, and mom approves.) and refusing to drink amaretto with him at noon or so the next day.  Also trying to make his son say "please" instead of demanding me to draw things for him.

Getting vaccinated for swine flu:
  This was definitely a party in itself.  Getting to see a bunch of PCVs, chat it up about our ridiculous holiday experiences, and eat at the awesome Shenghai Chinese Restaurant.  What more could you ask for?  We also said "see you in a few months" to the guy who broke his heel on the Kazbegi excursion--he's sent back to the states for a consultation and possible surgery before he can come back, hopefully, to continue service.

Feast at our house:
  With the sister-in-law and her husband who live on the other side of the village.  The husband interrogated me on my job and we watched the kids' dance concert that was in Tbilisi when I was gone for Telavi Thanksgiving.

Orthodox Christmas:
  Not a whole lot happened this day, either.  I made chili (successfully) and cornbread (unsuccessfully).  I would blame it on the crappy Georgian corn, but a) it was from a can and thus probably not from Georgia, and b) I added too much salt and c) I didn't have milk, so I used sour cream that may or may not have been still good.  At least the "American bean soup" was good, if the "American mchadi" was a failure.  This time.

  Also, the kids sang "alilos" and we gave them eggs so that they could feast the next day. (I think).

  And I thought the family went to church at 11, but they really went to bed, and I stayed up until 2 waiting for them to come back.  I thought they'd left without inviting me since I'd been on the computer all day, so I was feeling abandoned.  Silly me.

Dual pig slaughter at our place:
  This went down Saturday.  I have been feeling incredibly anti-Georgian lately, so was in a foul mood all day, even though I got to bathe for the second time in three days and had my hair straightened for me.  I was also grumpy because I couldn't make any food, so when the 30 Georgian guests were here, I fought for kitchen space and tried to orchestrate Chinese-style rice and veggies (lack of soy sauce and overcooking FAIL) and brownies (lack of doubling recipe for pan quasi-fail.  At least they were tasty.).

  I was pretty much successful in persisting in my blue funk and ignoring the Georgians and tried to find my happiness that night in the bottom of a bottle.  I was somewhat successful, though I had to search through a few before I found the right one-- kahlua made with starbucks coffee and family chacha? nope.  (Though it was nice to vaxtanguri with my host mom in a toast to friendship.)  Amaretto from a factory in/near Tbilisi?  nope.  (It was from the loaded family friend's wife's friend, too.)  Store-bought vodka based Bailey's? Check!  The forced wineful of horn in a toast to love also helped a bit.  Surprisingly, it's been my first horn of wine in Georgia.

Also, the tamada this night was the sister-in-law's husband, who lives on the other side of town.  By the end of the night, I marveled at his ability to stand.  He was teetering back and forth like a Mexican jumping bean, but the man was standing.  What a man.  He sure can pack away his wine.

Brunch supra the next day:
  I successfully skipped this one out by taking a nice long walk to the bottom of the village and back. While helping my host mom with the squintillion dishes, she commented on the Georgian tradition of men feasting and women cleaning up (as my host dad, a generally cool guy, was sleeping his hangover off on the couch).  I slipped a bug in her ear about the unfairness of this.  The host dad later accused me of committing a technical foul; actually, he accused me of going over the tamada's head by toasting to something the tamada didn't say, the punishment of which is drinking a full glass of wine to what the tamada actually said.  I forget the Georgian word for this.

English "tour" (aka test/competition) today in Kwareli:
  I woke up at 8, got ready and ate breakfast, scooted out the door a little late (but was still the first one at school), waited for an HOUR for the marsh to come, urged my counterpart to stay home with her sick kid (really, I can go places by myself.), and regretted saying "fine, how are you?" to 12th grader, who was embarrassed because he didn't understand it, even though he goes to a private tutor in Kwareli.  He's really a good kid, and my neighbor, too.  He definitely has a mind of his own--he slept during class once because he had a headache (but I don't blame him--it was a read and translate class), but he's got a good heart.
Still mulling over this awkward exchange, I drank coffee with a couple Russian teachers (one of them's actually a Russian lady) in the Kwareli school's cafe while we waited for the students to finish.  I listened to them talk about politics being dirty and then they talked about food and scolded me for not liking meat.  I'm in GEORGIA, I have to try and LOVE mtsvadi!!  (never mind the visiting relative from Tbilisi refused mtsvadi today.)  Whatever.  At least I got the chance to mail a birthday card to my grandma while I was in a thriving metropolis.  And I footraced (on my high heeled boots) one of the 12th grade boys to warm up while we were waiting for the marsh.

Next weekend, I'll be headed to Cara's to help prepare her birthday bash.  Though it is another party, it will be with many Americans and include many American foods.  (And there's a whole Nalgene-ful more where that Bailey's came from, just crying out for consumption.)  I hope we can make it an enjoyable time, for Cara's sake. : )

So, in sum, I've been going through the neverending holiday slump, getting sick of Georgian culture, being fed up that I'm not living healthily or conscientious of others, and worrying about my future, Life After Peace Corps.  If anyone has any bright ideas, let me know...

Merry Christmas, Here's to Many More.

I'd like to start off this post with some bad news, then move on to the good.

First of all, there is a serious black mold problem in this house, both in the newly renovated grandparents' bedroom and the kitchen.  I'm not quite sure what to do.  These next two weeks I have off, so I'm going to try a plan of action that may involve:
a) talking to my family (who is probably not aware of the dangers, as I was not exactly aware until I did some research).
b) lemon juice?  bleach?
c) buying a dehumidifier or two.
d) calling... someone at staff?

I don't know if they'd buy it or not, as the renovations were cut short due to a secretarial mix-up in the dad's paycheck, ending up with the family PAYING BACK hundreds of lari that he was overpaid the entire year.  Bull.  Really, secretary?

Secondly, Christmas was great.  It was def a much needed respite after a week of going to class and not delivering the lessons we'd planned because not enough students showed up.

At least it gave me some extra time to prep for my trip this weekend-- beautiful Kazbegi/Stepantsminda!

I woke up Christmas day really wishing I could have raced Ange to the tree, sit the way my dad and I used to sit when we were both bawshwebi (it's killer on your legs, though), and revel in everyone's joy as we exchange cool/stupid things with one another and then set into the preparation of some interesting, nontraditional meal.  At least I got to hang out with awesome people.

And the interesting, nontraditional meal part was preserved.  Every night this weekend something new and different.
One night was spaghetti with light-on-the-tomatoness sauce and homemade cutout cookies with icing.  I made the cookies, overcoming lack of cookie cutters with a knife, lack of powdered sugar with a coffee grinder, and lack of food coloring with a packet of German kool-aid, cherry flavored.
Another night was pasta with tomatoey-carrotey sauce, toffee peanuts, helva, and interesting contributions by David: meranguey cookies and stories of his life that defy classification or description.  Let's just say he's been everywhere.  And is a good philosophical ambler, too.
Also, the pasta served us the next morning as breakfast.  Because Georgians don't wake up early, and thus maghazias were still closed when we wanted to go hiking.  Thus, Brian fried up the pasta and we had mush with black pepper.   Delish.
The next night we were lucky to get dinner of frozen kababi, carrots-in-kababi juice, and peas.  All the maghazias were closed but one far away, and we got a police escort to it.  Why, you may ask?

Let's just say that ice is not kind to downward hiking, and the police were worried that someone was pushed, so we had to assure them with help of a translator that no one was at fault.
The translator was largely unnecessary, because Cara's and my skills in Georgian are pretty serviceable.  But her English was amazing.  If she gets one more hour, she'll be at the minimum required hours of English to host a volunteer, for whom she also said she'd look for housing for.  Motivation?  It seems that way, so I hope that's the case (because that's a trait that a volunteer can actually work with), and I hope she'll get her wish.


Well, we had a wonderful time, regardless.  We got exercise (!) on our hike to the monastery.  Mt. Kazbegi is simply stunning.  I'll get photos of the sunrise on the mountain from Cara and David.  And the stars at night twinkled like I've never seen stars twinkle before.

And the policeman who gave us a ride to the store bought us a chocolate bar.

And the "real" holiday here in Sakartvelo is yet to come.  Today I've been invited to a pig roast for New Year's (basically Christmas--see Saint Facetious' blog) at the aunt's place (the one who cuts my hair).
Host dad is at work and probably won't be home for New Year's, but maybe there will be some Chri-er, New Year's magic.  And I'll make plenty of nom nom squares (aka cookies and maybe some babovka) in the weeks to come.

Perhaps I'll do a post sometime this week finishing up my thankful list from Thanksgiving, as well as a Festivus airing of grievances.

Until then, stay cool! And, if you're in Georgia and are always cold, stay warm!

Gilotsavt Barbaroba! And mamidas dabadebis dghe. (and tsudadoba.)

For those of you who are not fluent in Georgian (definitely felt today that is NOT me), Happy St. Barbara's Day and my aunt's birthday (and sickness day).

The day, for me, involved going to school and encountering classes of 4-8 students, then leaving school after 3rd lesson to go on a hike up the mountain to Barbara's church with most of the students.

Going there was okay.  I ate more lobiani than I've ever eaten in a day.  Lobiani's the traditional dish of the day and each of the students brought their family's own variety, so I had to try them all.  And some cookies.  And a mandarini (tangerine).  And a blinchiki (fried pastry with cream).  And some boiled pumpkin.

I also got to talk with some of the more talented students in English (and thus butchered my Georgian more than usual today).

In trying to come back, the students ridiculously decided to hike through the river bed rather than cross the bridge that we'd crossed in the first place (because the closer one is gapuchdabuli from the last big storm that came through, and Georgians are lazy).  I protested and hiked farther north with some of the students, but eventually failed in my efforts and had to cross two makeshift log bridges rather than one.  These kids are impressively adept at making log bridges, and one of the girls absolutely refused help in crossing and then told the boys, "See? I am clever!" (in English).

Now, I somehow ended up alone with this group of 7 seventh graders.  While we were hiking back into town, one of the boys realized he forgot his bag, probably at the church.  Which was like upwards of a half hour hike from where we were, one way.  FML.  Paula the indecisive is forced into the Responsible Adult role.  What do we do?  I, of course, was wishy washy.  First we waited.  I called the homeroom teacher of the class I was with who I'd gotten separated from (but not after calling my Georgian teacher of the same first name who was celebrating with her students in Baghdadi.  Whoops.) and told her we'd be late.  She told me the parents were worrying.  So after more waffling, I decided to lead a group home. Partially because of the parents, and partially because I needed a bathroom due to the anti-constipation meds and digestive enzymes circulating my system.  The boys stayed to wait for the other boy.  When we got back, my host mom and the homeroom teacher both said the boys would be fine, and I know they would be, but it's the principle of the thing.  When I asked the boys if they wanted to leave, and one said yes, the other asked him, "Are you heartless?"

Yikes!  I don't want to be heartless.  But I also didn't want to lose any remaining scrap of dignity.  Whatev. 

Then, naturally, it's the aunt's birthday today.  So we went to her place for the party tonight (after stopping by the store last minute to pick out a present--a rose patterned cake plate, server, and plate set that cost 38 lari that the giftee probably does not need. Huzzah!).  And the family commented I don't eat.  Really.  I'm getting sick of this.  I was stuffed from earlier today, and I can't really eat bread, cheese, or alcohol, all of which were present and offered to me.  But I accepted the homemade pickles, juice, pepper/tomato stuff, and preserved peaces.  And a walnut nom nom square that wasn't that great. Hm.  I'd say that's pretty good for being drugged up and worrying all day about school and then missing students.  And Putin was on the news--his questionable orientation is in the spotlight, and the family collectively "ewwed" when the TV showed a picture of two men kissing (as my host bro affectionately snuggled with his uncle, arms and head resting on him, closer than most Americans would be comfortable with.).

As one of the boys said when I was silently panicking whether to stay or go, "Well, this is a day you'll remember.  When your friends ask you what you did for Barbaraoba, you'll have a story to tell them."

(or something like that in Georgian.)

Medicine in the Great Land of Sakartvelo.

So.  This shall be a small update, as I am feeling sicker than a dzaghls.  So, I think an appropriate topic should be a step-by-step guide on how to take care of yourself in the wonderful land of Georgia.

1)Burns.  Anything from a large burn covering most of your foot because you tried to can something with a used glass jar that has a crack on the bottom--to a small burn on your hand because you spilled scalding water from your teacup (if it's not scalding, it can't make tea. especially since you only stick the teabag in the water for a good three seconds, tops, then share the same chaisperi with the rest of the family.)
Should you receive such a burn, immediately cover your burn in oil, cry in pain while reluctantly applying aloe gel offered to you by your American boarder, and cut open any blisters formed.  Then, cover with mysterious yellow mousse-like substance that resembles spray foam insulation.  Call local doctor.  Let American listen to doctor speaking on telephone, saying, "Yes, they already cut it," (or something like that in Georgian).  Be prepared to be unable to walk for weeks and know that your work friends will ask the American about your health on marshutkas.
Should the burn be small, skip all steps except for the application of yellow spray foam.

2) Nutrition.  There's a lot to be said here.
Basics include: look strangely at your American if he/she doesn't eat bread and potatoes and khatchapuri and other starches when they're all offered.
Drink 5+ cups of coffee a day; instant, Turkish/remain-y, and/or American brewed.
Eat plenty of cheese but never have constipation.  (Riddle me this.)
Snack constantly.

To my family's awesomeness factor, they're totally cool with me limiting myself to one cup a day, though they still ask me every time if I want coffee.  I think this is just the hospitality factor; it'd be rude not to offer.

3) Stomachaches.
Causes: Wearing thin slippers and getting cold.
Not wearing slippers and getting cold.
Not wearing a scarf and getting cold. (though I now realize I've never been yelled at for my lack of hat.)
Not wearing enough layers and getting cold.
Treatment: "tea" made of fruit muraba (syrupy jam).  Mineral water.  Warming up by the petchi.

4) Headaches.
Treatment: not Ibuprofen.  That's only for shots.


I keep thinking I live in a different country than the rest of the volunteers.  My counterpart (one of them) is motivated and wants to work.  I eat fresh fruits and veggies, usually.  Now, of course, it's a bit sparser pickins, but we've got plenty of muraba and compote (which also unnecessarily ups my sugar intake, cause I eat buttloads of chocolate and nom nom squares.)  I get along with my family and spend a lot of time with them chatting and yukking it up over racking up frequent buyer points on pharmacy reward cards by bringing in real daisies (cause the cards have daisy pictures on them).  My students say that girls can't always do what guys do because of physical inability.  I'm inclined to agree with them to a certain extent, but managed to protest enough until they agreed that girls and guys could do "each others'" work if they had to.  My counterpart and I talk about scrapbooking and taxis and xerox machines and good and bad advertising.  Some of the teachers in the teacher's lounge rolled their eyes when I was interrupted from a normal conversation by a demand from a P.E. (read: male) teacher to say "bakaki tskalshi kikinebs" for his amusement.  That same teacher also asks me every day, without fail, how I am and if I'm cold and when I want him to "warm me up" by feeding me wine. (not bad, it's winter, and after lessons).

Then there's the interactions in the store when I ask for the price of a glass pan that looks the right size for lasagna (40 GEL? Ew.) and actually get the "You're a foreigner?  You speak Georgian?  You teach English? Are you married?  Oh, you should find yourself a nice Georgian boy." Ick.

But life in the village continues on rather normally.  We have no heat in the school yet, because we're supposed to get central heating.  By the middle of January.  Normally, I wouldn't believe that date.  Remember when my school was supposed to open a month earlier than it did?  But they're working on the heating.  During my lessons.  I had a chunk of wall fall near my feet when I was trying to lead a failed impromptu game of pictionary/charades in seventh grade (brought into existence because the xerox wasn't working, so we couldn't make copies of the test scheduled for that day).

It's usual in Georgia.

Week one.

21 June, 2009
Sunday

I have now been at my host family's house for one night. I'll tell you all about them as I get to know them better. But here are a few first impressions.

They seem very well off. Although there's no running water (I'm not sure if it's broken or if they just don't have it hooked up or what; there is a tap and showerhead in the abazana (bathing room)... yeah, although there's no running water, guess what's in a room right next to the abazana and not 30 meters away from the house? That's right, a TualeTi. I have a commode! Awesome sauce! Too bad I won't be here in the winter; that would be wonderful!

Other than the facilities, the rest of the house seems very nice (dzhalian kargia [it's very good]). I'm not too sure about taking pictures quite yet; maybe when my qartveli is better, I will feel more comfortable asking. I want you to see this house, though-- it's HUGE! My room's almost as big as my room back in Iowa! And the whole place just looks kinda ritzy; they have nice heirlooms and whatnot for decoration. The house is very aged-looking and the doors don't shut easily, but it is super nice. My room doesn't have a lock, like Peace Corps promised. But I'm not worried about the security issue with the family. I trust them. And they reassured me that there was always someone at home, and when we all take a trip, the gate will be locked.

It's a good thing the house is big ) One thing, though-- there are two young girls (ori gogobuia [?]) who speak English. The older one, who either just finished or will be in ninth grade, Tatia (TAH-tee-ah), is VERY adept at speaking English. She's probably as good or better than some of our LCFs (Language-Cross Cultural Facilitators). Seriously, she's amazing. She wants to become an English teacher. I hope she thinks about working with Peace Corps. I'll fosho drop the idea to her later. The younger girl, Khatia (phlegm-tee-ah), can definitely hold her own as well. She'll probably become just as good. They're both very patient and helpful, repeating things for me a zillion times that I've already heard twelve times earlier in the same day.

Last night Tatia told me that my accent was lovely. I laughed and then wished her goodnight in the regional way (which she told me probably four times and I repeated back to her, but can't remember it for the life of me).

Clare, you might take a liking to Khatia. She LOVES Sponji (aka SpongeBob). She apparently has a shirt and a hair thing and other Sponji memorabilia, although I've only seen the shirt. I woke up shvid saatze (at seven) to go for a run in the village with Tatia, but then she didn't want to go. She warned me that she likes to go to bed late and get up late and might not want to go. She said something about there being police out so that I should just run on the balcony. So Khatia ran with me on the balcony.

Khatia tired herself out quickly (I think she just liked the novelty of running with me and asking me my favorite Amerikeli Xili/khili [American fruit (no English equivalent for that first phoneme)]), so I ran for a while longer alone, all the while counting from one (erti) to ten (arti) so that I get better at it. During orientation, when we were staying at the hotel, the first night after the language lesson I was feeling particularly freaked out. Shawn, one of the volunteers, saw me silently stewing and studying and drilled me on the numbers until I could finally say them. That was really cool of him. He also randomly called me today and we compared living situations. He can speak Russian with his host dad, but I've got Tatia da Khatia, and I also have an in-house TualeTi, wheras he does not. Bad luck! And, Mary, I already told you—he was the Catholic guy who's skeptical of the anti-demon medallion you gave me. And said you should get me a female saint one instead of Benedict or Boniface (I don't remember which it was).

Speaking of religion, Georgians are very interested in what religion you are. It was one of the first questions Tatia asked me yesterday. I embarassedly had to say “me ar religiosi var.” but “chemi ojaki qristiani aris” (I am not religious but my family is Christian). I could tell she thought I was a weirdo as she pointed out the family biblia and explained to me that in Georgia, children are the same religion as their parents.

After eating dinner Georgian style on the balcony-- well, I guess you probably want to hear about that. The food. sachmeli. The place setting is just like we're used to; tepshi, changali, dana, da khelsakhotsi) plate, fork, knife, napkin (small and always folded into a triangle). The Georgians must not really like mixing their food that much. You help yourself from each serving plate, and when your plate is dirty, they offer you a new one. The waiters at the hotel did this, and Tatia did that to me at sauzme (sow's-may [breakfast]) this morning. (which I remember by “saucing me” which, in my mind, can kind of connect to eating and/or food. Hey, whatever works, right?) And the food is GOOD. The Puri (bread) is DELISH-- (gemruelia [the food's worth a gem... works for me!]). KhatchaPuri (like a quesadilla on a pita) is om nom nom, as is lobiani, a bean-pita sandwich. Salata of pomidori da kitri (tomatoes and cucumbers with parsley[?]) is good, too. There's often jonjoli, pickled capers, which is served with pickles and what looks like the peppers that come in pizza boxes. And there's the pâté like stuff that's made of spinach or new beans aka green beans or... plum? eggplant? beet? Something purple, I forget. I think it's beets. Whatever it was, I liked it. That's sometimes got walnuts in it and such. The soco (mushrooms) are fan-freaking-tabulous. There's also a few meat dishes—cold chicken, some beef, pork with onions, and sausage-y things. I haven't really tried them because I've come out of the vegetarianeli closet finally. It's great now because it's during fasting time (I think?) when Christian Georgians don't eat much if any meat. The kh'veli (cheese) at the hotel near Tbilisi was a bit too salty for my taste, but the cheese that my host family (chemi masp'indzeli ojakhi) has is very good.

Speaking of cheese, I grated cheese and made spag'eti today! masp'indzeli dedachemi (my host mom) is about the most patient and gracious woman in the world. I can't really even understand most simple things like “help” “day” “now” and so forth, and even though I say them over and over again, I still forget things like “me mvars” (I love...) “me mqavs, ra gqvia” (I have, you have) and so on. I'm still struggling to remember the pronouns! And it takes me ten minutes before I can say “kargia” (good), “ar vitsi” (I don't know), and “ver gavige (gah-vee-gay—I didn't understand)” And I've said those things half a squintillion times already! But my host mom was patient even though I understand her as if she were talking to a brick wall. Since the translators were out with their friends, we passed around my lexiconi until she figured out I wanted to help her with lunchi, and then she trusted me in her kitchen, sort of! It was awesome. I'm so thankful that the Georgians I've met thus far are nothing but kind. (My host mom and dad, who I ate with, even said the spag'eti was gemruelia!) So it's awkward, but good.

I'm so overwhelmed with this language thing, though. I want to learn it so badly, but I don't even know how to go about doing it anymore, and I'm jetlagged and eating weird food and not able to drink tap water for three months because I might get hepatitis and I haven't been able to get good sleep the past three nights even with the aid of Benadryl (which is thankfully provided in our med kits). I hope my body starts to adjust and my brain starts to adjust. The language is the key to everything! If I don't learn it, I won't be able to communicate well without the aid of a translator (evidenced by lunchi today) and I will be in more danger, as I won't be able to understand the kids in the marshutkas (public mini-vans that run between villages).


22 June 2009
Monday

My suspicions about my family's wealth continues to grow. Today, after the first school session (four hours of language with two fifteen minute breaks), we had lunch (lunchi) at our house. Chemi megobreri were very impressed. The size of the house, the lamazia (lovely) hand-painted walls and ceilings, and the t'ualet'i all impressed them very much. The t'ualet'i impressed them most of all; after the TEFL meeting Sagaregoshi (in Sagarejo), we came back to our village and were going to walk around, but first everyone wanted to come back to my house to use the toilet.

23 June 2009
Tuesday

Yeah... last night was interesting. But the rest of yesterday Pirueli (first). (And when is my life NOT interesting?)

So, they all used the toilet here because it's better than what they have, apparently. And then we walked down past the crossroad to where Lauren's street comes to the main road, then I walked back. Oh, and Kyle walked Kaitlin home. But they got lost, and Kyle's host family called Tengo (the program director... basically the go-to guy when stuff goes wrong. Other than our resident LCF, Ana, of course. She's awesome. More on her later.)
So that went down. There was another minor crisis over the weekend. One of the guys from the neighboring village was trying to go to sleep, but the dogs were barking loudly, so he couldn't. He brought some Rite-Aid gel ear plugs, so he used them. Problem solved, right? Wrong. Not only did he not hear his alarm the next morning, but when he tried to pull out the plugs, the right one broke in half. He kept trying to get more pieces out; he only succeeded in getting small chunks and pushing the remaining chunk (though getting smaller and smaller) farther into his ear. So he called the Med staff and was sent to Tblisi. The first doctor refused to do anything about it; apparently she didn't want to touch him because he was American. So he sat in Tblisi while the head PC med lady tried to arrange things and talked about calling Washington. Tom, the mokhalise (volunteer) was nearly in tears because he thought he was going to get ET (early termination). He stayed overnight at a hotel in Tblisi, and the next day they head PC med lady took him to a Europe-wide famous specialist. The guy laughed at him. He couldn't believe the other doctor wouldn't have done such a simple operation. So the doc took some kind of ear-keeping-open mechanism, stuck it on the volunteer, and got the earplug out in five minutes. How crazy is that? The volunteer is now doing well and back, good as new.

Today skolishi (in school) we worked on survival phrases (sad aris t'ualet'i? sad aris chemi ojakhi?) Although I think if we don't know where the toilet and our rooms are by now, we'd be in big trouble. But there are some useful phrases I still need to study-- ukatscravahrgh (sorry) da tavi mt'kiva, da mutseli mt'kivai (and my head hurts, and my stomach hurts). But that's for tonight.

Yesterday I basically locked myself in my room and studied for a very long time. I tried so hard to work on reading, and I practiced saying my name is and your profession is and your last name is and so forth. I still get confused with the four k's-- soft k, hard k, soft rolled k, hard rolled k. That last one is the hardest of all. There's no English equivalent (or Spanish equivalent, for that matter.) But we have an advantage over the Georgians, too. The name “Faith” has three sounds they can't say, I guess. So cool. Lauren was feeling particularly mischievous today in school, so during our activity where we had to make up a lady's name and tell it to someone else, guess what she picked? Heh heh.

Today really was awesome. We were crazy and joking around nonstop. During lunch at Kyle's place (where we were served a wonderful feast of khinkali (meat in pastry pouches), lamb, khatchapuri, puri, kitri da pomidori, an awesome dessert that I have no idea what it was but was cut in diamonds and arranged on the plate like a big star, and like a zillion other things. They really went all out for us. But what stole the show was the Kompote. It's a type of juice made from boiled fruit (sometimes strawberries, sometimes apples, grapes, whatever). It kind of tasted like Kool-Aid. So Lauren declared that its flavor was Purplesaurus Rex. Ana, cveni LCF (our LCF) had no idea what Kool-Aid is. If you can imagine how awesome it is explaining the useless flavor names and the extravagantly silly color changing powder (of a flavor that has nothing to do with the color of the prepared liquid), the mystery flavors that you never really know what they are, and the Kool-Aid man himself to someone who's never heard of it, then you may have a slight idea of how much fun we had at lunch.

And we're all bonding really well. In our village name (there are two villages, one with the name “small” and the other “big”) instead of Patara (small [but bigger than the “big” village population-wise.. explain that one to me.]), we're gonna take to calling ourselves Better-a. Yeah, we're pretty much the coolest. We have the most gracious people, the coolest houses, the awesomest kids in all of Sakartvelo. Oh yeah.

So, quickly about Ana and my weird night last night and running this morning, and then I'm gonna go get nakh' ini chemi datan (ice cream with my sister) maghazishi (at the store). Oh yeah!

Ana, our LCF, is no doubt the best. She has really pretty black, bushy hair that last week she let free but this week has tamed, which is quite sad. We told her so today. She's got a BA in English and an MA in Linguistics and is from the west side of Sakartvelo. And she's incredibly nice and helpful, as much as any Kartveli I've met (except maybe chemi ojakh'i [my fam]). And she's only 22.

Last night, after locking myself in my room all day and studying, I texted one of the guys, and he called me back and we chatted for a while about significant others and Georgian wine. It was rather interesting.

And this morning I ran Laurendan da mati dzadan (with Lauren and her brother). He's maybe five or so and barely spoke two words to me. I think he said gamarjobot (hello) but that's about it. Hopefully we'll do this every morning. Or maybe yoga some mornings, like I did yesterday.

Allright, to the nakh'ini! Woot woot! Until next time! Bollomde!


26 June, 2009
Friday

Well, I didn't get nakh'ini that day, but I got it yesterday afternoon at school break with Lauren. It was delicious, naturally.

And last night I tried a little bit of homemade whiskey/coffee liqueur that my host mom made. It was delish, too! Also, my bebia made a type of caramel sauce with grape juice and flour. I don't remember what it was called, but you eat it with walnuts. I liked it a lot. I tried to help crack the walnuts, but the first one I did spilled all over the floor, so we laughed at my incompetence and then I just helped separate the shells from the nuts. I think my host mom thinks I'm rather incompetent.... it's just the language barrier, I swear!

And I tried the cherries, alubali. AND I washed my laundry yesterday. It went rather well. Hooray!

Um, we had hub day today in Sagarejo. I'm hopefully going to get to post today, but the net is SLOOOOOOOOW! So maybe not.

Okay, I think I will have time.

I'm a bit distracted by the slow internet and can't think of anything else to include right now, so I'll just leave you with an “until next time!”

Hope you're all doing well. I have my good moments and bad moments, but I think it's going to be kargi.
Love!



Oh... things I may want/need:
cocoa
anti-demon medal
notebooks? The ones here are kinda weird.
Carefree, Stayfree, and OB. Eventually.
Crest Pro-health, eventually. My toothpaste decided to explode on the plane to Philly.

If I think of anything else, I'll letcha know. Thanks! <3